


Engagement Parties are an Aphrodisiac

by elliotwritesgarbage



Series: ao3 exclusives [1]
Category: Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy - Cassandra Clare, The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/M, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I mean, Post-Lady Midnight, Smut, Spoilers, but like, cute fluffy smut, don't let elliot do things haha, good luck everyone, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 09:44:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15682896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliotwritesgarbage/pseuds/elliotwritesgarbage
Summary: Simon and Isabelle enjoy the night after their engagement party.





	Engagement Parties are an Aphrodisiac

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I wrote this... but here we are. It also has been read by a beta, but not actually beta'd. Whoops.

The ride up the elevator was silent, both parties waiting to see if they’d have to make any stops on the way to their floor. They booth stood with small, barely-concealed smiles and blush dusting their radiant cheeks. Simon was trying (and failing) to smother a giggle. The night had left them both buzzed, tipsy and fluttering with excitement over things to come. 

The elevator ground to a halt, and before he could move, Isabelle was reaching to pull the door away. Before she could take a step she was swept off her feet by two arms around her waist. Isabelle shrieked, letting Simon’s strong arms lift her from her tired feet. Simon laughed into her neck, and bit down gently. He growled and pulled away. 

“Ah! Wait!” Isabelle tried to speak through her laughter. Their room was still a few yards away, and if they started now they wouldn’t be able to stop. Simon had already put her down, and was backing her to the wall, a smile showing off his straight white teeth in a smile meant for only her. 

She felt her back hit the wall, and Simon’s palms followed, bracketing her. She exhaled softly, so close that Simon was practically breathing her in. 

“God, you smell so good.” Simon pushed his face into Isabelle’s neck and mouthed at it. It was certainly not designed to be sexy, and still the rush she’d been feeling all night blazed through her blood like neon. Simon moved a hand from the cold wall to his fiancée’s hair, stroking and cupping her ear.

“Simon,” Isabelle whispered. 

Simon backed off, groaning, and helped her off the wall. He squinted his eyes at her. Grabbing her by her rough, pale hand, he began to pull her towards their room, walking backwards to maintain eye-contact. 

Their sharing a room had been big. A few weeks of asking followed by a decision that no matter the answer, they’d be doing it. Simon spun quickly, maneuvering Isabelle once more until her back was against their door. Had she wanted, she could have stopped him.

He attached his lips to her neck, kissing and sucking and moaning all the while, and letting her know that no matter how much she wanted this, he wanted it all the more. Izzy put her hands in his hair and gasped against him. She tugged on what had been nicely styled hair, wanting to hear him undone, knowing that she could have him like this, undone, for the rest of her life. 

“We’re getting married,” she said. 

Simon stopped suddenly, and straightened up to face her. His face was a healthy pink, and his lips were slick. “We’re fucking getting married.”

He pushed his lips to hers with no regard for patience. Isabelle tried for the door handle by her hip. They both went tumbling back, laughing as Simon tried not to crush his future wife. Had it not been for the champagne, high heels, and weakening arousal making her knees tremble, Isabelle would have been ashamed to have fallen. They stood precariously, neither willing to let go of the other for even a second, wanting to prove to each other that yes, this is who I want to spend the rest of my life with and yes, I’m so fucking happy that starts today. 

“Is your mom, ah, going to be disappointed you’re not marrying a Jewish girl?” Simon was unzipping her dress with infuriating tenderness, kissing down her spine as he went. Simon stood tall. In the mix, Isabelle had kicked off her heels and was now her usual inch-and-a-bit shorter than him. Using her waist, Simon spun her until she was pressed so close to him she imagined he could feel her every cell tingling with anticipation.

“Who cares.” Simon once again crushed his lips to hers, shoving her dress down past her hips and onto the floor. He reached for his tie, desperately tearing at the delicate silk fabric. Isabelle pulled it the rest of the way off, helping him shrug of his jacket and working on the top buttons of his shirt, all the while kissing and moaning and promising herself to him. 

When finally, blissfully, he freed his shirt from his belt and she placed her hands on his chest, he thought his heart might stop beating again. If he was with her, it wouldn’t matter. 

They ended up on the bed. Simon thought he probably pushed her there. For the first time since their frenzy had begun, Simon looked at Isabelle. Her bra and underwear matched. Lacy, blue, eye-catching at every moment and if Simon looked too long, this would all be over so much sooner than either of them wanted. 

Isabelle did not have to ask him if he liked it. His pupils were wide, and in them reflected only Isabelle and all the softheartedness in the world. 

“I love you,” he replied anyway. 

“I love you so much.”

It had never been easier for Isabelle to say, and she figured that she had never meant it as much as she did then. 

Simon followed her down on the bed, chasing every bit of her exposed skin and wriggling out of his well-tailored pants. It was far from their first time, but every single time ignited a fire in Simon. It blazed through his veins and he thought that this, this exact feeling, was how it felt to be burdened with heavenly fire. 

However involuntary, Simon rolling his hips still sent shockwaves through the both of them. Izzy wrapped her legs around his waist, asking him to please, please do it again. He complied, grinding shamelessly into his fiancée and kissing her senselessly. 

Simon pulled away regretfully. "Should I get a condom?" He panted. 

Isabelle shook her head, gesturing to the rune on her hip, artfully drawn by Clary. 

"Remind me to send her flowers." Simon said, before reaching to remove Isabelle's panties. Isabelle didn't care if Clary ever got her flowers, all she needed at that moment was Simon, in every way, shape, and form. 

Simon pushed his boxers to his knees, unwilling to move any further away from her to take them off. For what might as well have been the first time, he was finally inside her, no layer, however small, separating them. He was able to feel her tight, wet heat squeezing him, pulling at him as if she had all the power in the world over him and, he thought, she absolutely does. 

Isabelle’s eyes, which had been closed in barely-contained pleasure, opened when she felt Simon’s hand on her face. His palm pressing down on her cheek in a sweaty and hardly romantic way, long fingers toying with her ear, a way of claiming her and proving that she was his. She moaned louder. 

When it was all over, and they were panting, giggling, and trying to regain their breath, they’d stop for a moment and think rationally, and still draw the same conclusions they did while drunk and lustful. When Isabelle was calm, and still dripping with Simon, they’d agree with their impassioned selves over and over again. This is who I want to spend my life with, and I'm so happy it’s already started.


End file.
